I've recognized for ever so long now that life is made up of seasons, seasons of joy and of pain, seasons of stress and of rest, seasons long and short. But this woman, selfishly perhaps, desires the joyful seasons to last long and the painful seasons to be blessedly short. I'd rather do without the seasons of stress, even though I know they make the seasons of rest that much sweeter.
I... I... I...
But my Heavenly Father, who knows me better than myself, who has a better plan than I could ever have, who longs for me to glorify Him far beyond what sometimes seems possible to me... my Heavenly Father has ordained this bleak midwinter season for me.
I can remember another season, years ago, that seemed an unending springtime. It was a season of great growth, of painful weeds being pulled, of pruning and watering and stretching. I relished that season; I was content.
"Now is the winter of our discontent..."
Discontent? I don't know that I'm really discontent. Well, maybe. Sometimes I feel like the bare trees of winter, left standing with no leaves to help shield them (and me) from the wind and cold, waiting and longing for spring again.
During this season, I long for an extra measure of grace. I long for a loved one to have peace, another to have health, and for myself to have more faith and more discipline and more contentment in this season. But just as the trees of winter have built up strength during previous seasons and, even now, hold life within, I know that God has already given me exactly the measure of grace that I need to weather this season. No, not weather, but thrive, even now.
And I have the hope of spring, the spring that only my Lord can bring. A spring that brings forth fruit from these once winter-weary branches as I blossom in a way that the world can see, a way that will bring glory to His name. And I can praise Him for that.
And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up. Galatians 1:9